


Aerodynamic

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Wednesday One-Shots [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Poor Harry, Romance, Vaccines, Veela, Veela Harry, reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry could deal with side-effects from a vaccine against Veela allure. Really, he could. If those side-effects didn’t include the urge to lure Malfoy down dark corridors and do…things…with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A response to an anonymous request for Harry to be continually kissing and groping Draco, then running off, as a result of a bad reaction to a vaccine against Veela. This will have two parts, with the second posted next week.

Harry was walking innocently down a corridor in the Ministry, on his way to deliver a report Kingsley wanted by hand, when it happened for the first time. He wasn’t seeking anything out. He wasn’t thinking about sex. He was slightly bored, wondering when a new case would come through the Auror ranks, and hoping it didn’t deal with a Veela. He had successfully imprisoned all the winged thieves and assassins he’d had to deal with lately, and now he had an extra layer of protection, thanks to the latest Ministry potion, but it was still a pain in the arse.  
  
So he thought that, and everything was fine, and then Draco Malfoy stepped out of a side-corridor ahead of him, his nose buried in a book whose pages he was flipping. He muttered to himself in a way that sounded like a typical obsessed Unspeakable’s ranting. Or liaison? He was a liaison of some kind, Harry remembered distantly, between the Ministry and pure-blood families with more money than sense. Harry honestly hadn’t bothered to keep track.  
  
Malfoy had once been someone to follow and peer after suspiciously because he was up to no good. Now he was just up to boringness, and that didn’t require following.  
  
Which meant it made no sense when Harry came to a stop in the middle of the corridor, his tongue feeling as though paper had replaced it. Harry wiped at his mouth and stared at Malfoy. Could he have cast some kind of spell…?  
  
Not unless he could do it wandlessly and nonverbally, Harry had to admit. He could see the shape of Malfoy’s full wand holster against his wrist.  
  
He groaned a little. He shouldn’t have thought of wands. That made not only his tongue but other parts of his body feel dry and  _hot_.  
  
Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at the groan, but only nodded distantly to Harry and said, “Good morning, Potter,” before looking at the book again.  
  
Harry took a shaky step forwards. Then he stopped. The report banged against his leg, and reminded him of his appointment with Kingsley.  
  
 _Fuck the report._  
  
Once again, he wished he hadn’t thought that. Trembling ripples ran through his body, and he was barely aware that he had dropped the report in a colorful splash on the floor. Malfoy kept walking, so evidently not considering the sound worth his time that Harry was filled with the temptation to make him see it was.  
  
 _Why not?_  
  
It was early morning, still. Not many people in this part of the Ministry. A convenient corridor off to the side that led to a lift no one liked using, given the way it creaked, and so the Head of the Department had finally stopped it and declared no one was to go that way.  
  
Harry lunged, grabbed Malfoy’s cloak and collar, and dragged him into the corridor. Malfoy dropped his book and reached for his wand, mouth open to make what was probably going to be a prissy remark.  
  
Harry had no time to listen to prissy remarks. His head was filled with the sort of sounds he wanted to enjoy with Malfoy, and cause Malfoy to make. That last part was important. No more silence.  
  
He turned his grip on Malfoy’s cloak into a grip on the back of his neck, and shifted the hold on his collar a little, and kissed him.  
  
Malfoy’s lips were still as glass, as cold.  _Shock_ , Harry determined, and lapped at them once, because that would make something happen.  
  
It made Malfoy try to bite his tongue off, was what happened. But Harry pushed him backwards, into the wall right beside the old lift door, and Malfoy went with it, grunting. He didn’t have much choice. Harry might not be bulging with muscle, but he did all right for himself, thank you very much.  
  
He pressed up against Malfoy so Malfoy could appreciate it, and continued the kiss. Malfoy parted his legs, and Harry slipped obligingly between them. His mouth was open, too, as if he was going to scream. Harry got in the way, instead, and kissed him more deeply, rejoicing in the way that the simple taste of salt in Malfoy’s mouth seemed to travel like lightning down to his bones.  
  
Then another word occurred to him, one that made him jerk back from Malfoy with his face flaming in horror. That was the sound of a name, echoing again and again in his own head.  
  
 _Malfoy. This is Malfoy I’m kissing._  
  
Harry stood there and panted it off for a second, his eyes locked on Malfoy’s. Malfoy lifted one hand and delicately touched his own cheek and lips, as if he wanted to make sure he still had all his teeth. His gaze was locked on Harry, and he was utterly silent. Pink, but silent. Not panting, the way Harry was. Not staggering, the way Harry was.  
  
Not burning with the desire to go ahead and start it all over again, the way Harry was.  
  
Harry turned and ran. He had to go pick up that report before someone else saw sensitive Auror information and give it to Kingsley. He couldn’t  _believe_ that he’d left it lying in the middle of the corridor, let alone that he’d left it to chase after  _Malfoy_.  
  
And then he would go right to one of the Healers and submit himself to a thorough set of diagnostic charms. Because  _what the fuck_.  
  
*  
  
Draco had thought that strange things had finished happening in his life with the end of the war. From thereon out, he had thought, things might be unexpected, they might be surprises, but they would not be strange.  
  
Having Harry Potter drag him into a dark corridor and kiss him certainly counted that way, though.  
  
Draco touched his tongue to his swollen lips. Then he reached down and felt along the edge of his hip. He had thought Potter’s hand had dropped there, but now that he thought about it, it seemed as though Potter had firmly held onto his neck and hair instead. So that had to be the pressure of, perhaps, a hip or a leg.  
  
Draco sighed a little and stretched, adjusting his robes to give himself some more room as his cock swelled to match his lips.  
  
Well. So he could admit Potter was attractive. So what? But he also thought that if Potter had found  _him_ attractive, he was more the sort to come right out and ask Draco for a date. Or at least to hint around the edges in a would-be-clever way that Draco would only tolerate for so long before answering the question.  
  
This was—the kind of oddity that Draco had thought vanished from his life with the end of the war, yes.  
  
He glanced in the direction Potter had fled, but of course he was gone now. Draco snorted a little. And he would have to leave, too, or he would be late for one of those tiresome meetings that were meant to reassure pure-blood families with houses full of ancient artifacts that the Ministry didn’t want to march in and take all of them. Just some of them, and if they only signed the right forms in triplicate, they could prevent even that.  
  
Yes, that was what his life was like. An endless round of forms, books about artifacts and laws pertaining to them, meetings, notes, and memos that no one but him would ever read. Draco had actually found a solid place in the hierarchy of the Ministry, although it depended largely on people communicating with him by writing rather than in person.  
  
This didn’t fit that.  
  
Draco grinned.  
  
Perhaps he could welcome the addition of strangeness to his life. It would at least make things a little newer. And Potter was welcome in a way that sort of disturbed Draco with the strength of the emotion, but since no one else ever had to know he was disturbed, that was okay, too.  
  
*  
  
“I’m what.” Harry said it flatly, and then dropped his head into his hands and squinted at the floor through his fingers in case that would improve the perspective at all. It didn’t.  
  
“You have a rare and unanticipated reaction to the Veela saliva that we had to include in the vaccine.” The Healer was one of those embarrassed ones who  _wanted_  to be flustered and stammering at the thought of treating Harry Potter, but would also be mortified if that happened, so he went too far the other way and treated Harry with a casualness bordering on indifference. Harry knew the type. This one wouldn’t even look at him as he began to write notes on the parchment in a neat hand. “I don’t suppose you know why this happened?”  
  
“I know I should have refused the bloody vaccine,” said Harry darkly. He was immune to the Imperius Curse, after all, and he should be able to resist the pull of a winged bird-person dancing up and down to its own screeches. But the Ministry had insisted, and there had been so many cases involving Veela lately that Harry had agreed.  
  
Then he thought of something that might not only be true but would get the bloody Healer to look at him. “Why would the side-effects make me seek out a particular person?”  
  
The Healer glanced at him, but it was hardly worth it. He had metal-blue eyes that Harry didn’t find interesting at all, and he had no urge to reach out and stroke the man’s limp brown hair. Apparently he only wanted to forcibly kiss blonds. “As I explained, you’re temporarily part Veela. Of a sort. You won’t acquire the wings or the magical powers, or the allure. But it does make you susceptible to the need that the allure induces.”  
  
“So I’ll be even more helpless than usual going up against a Veela. Great.”  
  
“No!” The Healer straightened as if Harry had personally insulted him. Well, maybe he’d been involved in the development of the useless vaccine, Harry thought. He looked like someone who would be, because it was the only way he’d get any action. “The need connects to a specific person. Not any Veela. And,” the Healer added, looking enchanted with his own ideas, “once you’re bonded to the person the vaccine has chosen, you’ll be immune to the allure anyway. Bonded mates are.”  
  
“You didn’t,” said Harry, feeling a vein near the corner of his eye begin to twitch and his hand clamp around his wand, “say anything about  _bonding_.”  
  
“Well, it’s nothing to worry about,” said the Healer, shrugging. “The bond has to connect with a person you have strong feelings for. Most people in this situation would find themselves bound to a lover…” His voice trailed off weakly. “What’s wrong?”  
  
 _Other than that you still exist in my line of sight?_ But Harry refrained, with difficulty, from saying that. He only smiled and said, “Would these strong feelings have to be positive?”  
  
“No,” the Healer breathed, and he looked a little dazzled, a little dazed.  
  
 _He thinks it’s him,_ Harry thought, and wanted to stalk out of the room.  _Bloody wanker._  
  
But staying in firm control of himself right now was the only thing that was keeping him from racing around the room screaming like a hawk with its wings on fire, so he smiled slowly at the Healer and said, “Thanks. Bye.” And he leaped off the stupid table they always made him sit on and strode rapidly away, in the direction of his office.  
  
All he had to do, he was thinking as he moved, was keep away from Malfoy. That ought to be easy enough. If he had to, he would turn to one of those people who were always staring at him with big, languorous eyes and ask them to spy on Malfoy for him, and warn him when Malfoy was moving in his direction. It would be simple.  
  
 _Simple,_ said a doubting voice in the back of his head.  
  
Harry ignored that. He wasn’t about to listen to any parts of himself that doubted. Because that would lead him right back to Malfoy, and he didn’t want that, did he?  
  
No, he didn’t. Or rather, parts of him wanted it, but they were parts that Harry couldn’t bring out into polite society, and that meant they would have to lie down and take care of themselves.   
  
Or he would take care of them. Later.  
  
*  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow and turned away from Potter’s office, a poky little one down a side-corridor. Of course Potter would take an office not at all befitting his status. That was like him, Draco could admit now. Potter was far from the obsessed attention-seeker Draco had once thought he was. In fact, if anything, he spent too much time dodging attention, acting as though he could persuade other people he was ordinary.  
  
 _But he’ll always be extraordinary to me, if only in the way he manages to frustrate me,_ Draco thought. Waiting outside Potter’s office hadn’t worked. Perhaps he would have to linger until the end of the day and try to ask his questions when Potter was leaving for the night.  
  
Then, almost as suddenly as Potter had attacked him the day before, a hand came shooting out of the shadows. Draco went with it, although this time the only shadowed place they had was the little bend where one corridor met another.  
  
The instant he was out of sight from the rest of the corridor, he felt a hand try to cover his eyes. Draco tutted and leaned back, escaping easily. “I like to see who’s about to kidnap and ravish me, thank you,” he said.  
  
Potter’s eyes were so desperate that he didn’t even seem inclined to complain at Draco’s choice of words. Instead, he leaned forwards and fastened his mouth onto Draco’s.  
  
Draco could feel Potter’s lips moving against his, saying something that was probably interesting. But he had to admit, the kiss was rapidly taking all his attention. Potter didn’t go in for finesse, if the way his rapidly darting tongue poked and prodded at Draco’s lips was any indication. Draco reached out, took his jaw in one hand, and pried him away.  
  
“ _Please,_ Malfoy,” Potter said, and his moan was enough to bring a smile to Draco’s lips where the kiss hadn’t. He shook his head a little and leaned back with his legs splayed, drawing Potter closer so they would be out of sight of someone coming back to the office down the most-traveled corridor.  
  
“I want to know why you have to do this,” said Draco softly. And he was sure that it was  _having_ to, that Potter felt impelled, but no curse or potion Draco knew of would have this exact effect, especially on someone who regularly threw off the Imperius.  
  
Potter closed his eyes, then opened them again. They shone with a strange, reflective sheen, as though Potter had decided to replace their surfaces with mirrors.  
  
“Veela vaccine,” he whispered. “It—was supposed to protect me against Veela allure, and instead I’ve  _got_ it. Or the need to bond. And you’re it. Someone I have strong feelings for.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Draco’s arm, stroking as if he could admire the shape of the muscle for itself. Well, Draco had to consider himself as admirable. “Please, Malfoy, let me kiss you.”  
  
Draco wanted to say something sympathetic, because that would shock Potter more than anything else, but then Potter lunged forwards again, and Draco was just lucky that he had his head in the right place to avoid getting a concussion. Instead, his mouth was full of that eager tongue again, and his robes were full of—  
  
 _Well_.  
  
Draco arched his hips, spread his legs, and welcomed Potter’s hand. He supposed he could have resisted, but it would have been a bit painful, and Draco was curious to see what would happen, if Potter was going to manhandle his cock as roughly as he was currently tongue-handling Draco’s lips.  
  
But Potter’s hand was agonizingly gentle, as opposed to his tongue, which still stroked roughly along Draco’s teeth. His hand flitted, worked, barely touched, and then flew away altogether. Draco opened his eyes at the same moment.  
  
Potter was backing away from him, expression strange, twisted, full of remorse and indignation at the same time. He shook his head and lifted his hand to shield his face when he saw Draco looking at him.  
  
“Why did you have to come here?” he whispered hoarsely. “Maybe I could have avoided this if you hadn’t come here.”  
  
“I, rather naturally, wanted to know why you were kissing me,” said Draco. He thought it was the height of common sense, even if his own voice had acquired a huskiness. Certainly nothing to make Potter stare at him in that disdainful fashion. “And now I have the answer. And now we can resume.”  
  
“No,” said Potter, and closed his eyes. “We have to—there has to be a cure. It’s not just kissing, we’re going to be bloody  _bonded_ —oh, Merlin.”  
  
And he ran away.  
  
Draco stared after him with his mouth open slightly. Then he reached down and adjusted himself again.  
  
He was getting a bit tired of being at the mercy of Potter’s apparently Veela-fueled libido. Next time, he would make sure their encounter was on equal terms.  
  
And it would include more actual words, and explanations. Perhaps, given the eagerness of Potter’s hands and lips, Draco would need to restrain him for that.  
  
Draco groaned slightly, and walked (carefully) away to deal with both his problem and the thought.


	2. Part Two

Harry thought about tearing his hair out. But that wouldn’t solve any of the problems he saw in having some sort of bloody Veela  _bond_ to Malfoy, and would probably only exacerbate them. After all, why should Malfoy care whether he tore his hair out? And Harry might need it to warm the back of his neck after he ran away from home and hearth so he wouldn’t ever have to see Malfoy again.  
  
Currently, at least, he was in the sanctuary of his home. And there was a rather large bottle of Firewhisky sitting invitingly on the table, close at hand. Harry seized it and tilted it back and forth, admiring the way that the light shone through the warm amber liquid for a moment.   
  
He drank a huge gulp of it, and dealt with his burning eyes and throat in silence. Well, okay, no, in spluttering noise. But at least it was a distraction from his stupid brooding about Malfoy.  
  
 _What am I going to do?_  
  
Harry sighed. He knew what he would probably have to do, he just hated to, because it would mean exposing his problems to Hermione and her worry. He loved her. He  _did._ But she worried even more about him now that he was an Auror than she did about Ron. According to her, Ron had some common sense, and Harry didn’t.  
  
His Floo chimed. Harry sat up with wary confusion. It was after ten at night. Had Hermione somehow sensed that he was thinking about her and called him? She had scary intuition, at times. She might do that.  
  
But when he reached out and tapped the bricks that made the Floo open, it was to see Malfoy’s head, of all people’s, hovering in the flames. He looked at Harry and opened his mouth, and Harry, frozen in place by an utterly inappropriate pulse of warmth, didn’t manage to speak in time to stop  _him_ from speaking.  
  
“So,” said Malfoy. “We need to discuss certain things. For example, you having a reaction to a vaccine doesn’t change what happened between us this afternoon.”  
  
Harry put a hand over his face. If he couldn’t see Malfoy, it helped, he found. He wasn’t as transfixed by the—  
  
 _Beauty_.  _You can call it that._  
  
Maybe someone else, some stupid infatuated Veela, could call it that, Harry thought. But it was impossible for  _him._ He breathed out and reminded himself how he had beaten Malfoy up at Hogwarts, and how Malfoy had tricked him into nearly getting caught by Filch first year, and the time he had dressed up as a Dementor, and all sorts of other things that made them far from ideal mates for each other. The recollections crowded his mind, and he concentrated on them, hoping Malfoy would get bored of his rudeness and go away in a second.  
  
But then Malfoy spoke again, and that illusion broke. “What  _are_ you doing, Potter?” he murmured, sounding fascinated and amused at the same time. “Waiting until someone hits you over the head and puts you out of your misery?” He paused, and his voice dipped and took on a new note. “Is it that bad, being bonded to me?”  
  
“You must be out of your mind, too,” Harry whispered into his arm. “I mean, this is brand-new, for both of us.” And already his skin was burning from the touch of his own whispering lips, a silent argument that it should be  _Malfoy’s_ lips there instead erupting in the back of his head. “Listen. Malfoy, can you listen to me?”  
  
“If you’re going to be sensible, maybe,” said Malfoy. “And look at me.”  
  
Harry tensed himself. The reminder of all the things he and Malfoy had done to each other was still there, behind his thoughts, like a lingering bad taste on his tongue. He lowered his arm and looked at him.  
  
The need struck him like a slap. He surged forwards, out of the chair, and nearly reached into the fire before he remembered that Malfoy  _wasn’t_ right on the other side of it. A whimper broke through his lips, and Harry flopped back into his couch and controlled the impulse to reach for his cock. Barely.  
  
“Don’t ask me to look at you,” he whispered, and turned his head away again. “Being sensible and looking at you are opposing dictates.”  
  
Malfoy was silent for so long that Harry thought he had gone away, but didn’t dare risk looking at the fire to check. Then Malfoy said, “The situation is a little more urgent than I thought. Open your Floo to me, so I can come over and we can discuss things like adults.”  
  
 _Yes,_ said a thrum in Harry’s bones and blood stronger than even instinct. It was pure, untamed desire, and it flooded him and lapped fiercely back and forth.  
  
But Harry shook his head, and kept his eyes firmly closed. “If you come over here, we’re going to discuss it like randy teenage boys, instead,” he muttered. “Stay there.”  
  
“Open up for me,” said Malfoy, and his voice was low and ringing and conjured all sorts of things, all  _sorts_ of states and promises, in Harry’s mind.  
  
“Malfoy—”  
  
“Open.”  
  
Harry couldn’t resist. He turned and met Malfoy’s eyes, and even the impulse to lunge at him now was less. He extended his hand and twitched his fingers through the sequence of movements on the bricks that would open the Floo connection. Although he didn’t think Malfoy could see every one of them, he must have decided on what Harry had done, because his face had relaxed in a gentle smile.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, and then his face wavered and withdrew. Harry had only a moment to catch his breath and his hope that Malfoy wouldn’t come over after all when the flames snapped straight and a spinning figure appeared in the center of them.  
  
Harry scrambled up and stood there, tense and trembling. He didn’t want to be this way, he  _didn’t,_ but the stupid vaccine…  
  
Malfoy stepped neatly out of the fireplace on the end of his last spin, as if he’d been doing this all his life.  _Of course he was,_ Harry reminded himself, wondering if slapping himself would bring his lost senses back, and dropped his gaze to the carpet.  _He grew up in the wizarding world and not in a cupboard, remember?_  
  
That last thought gave him some strength that anchored him to reality, for a moment. How the fuck was Malfoy going to react when he found out how deep the differences between them really ran?  
  
“Malfoy,” he began, seriously.  
  
Malfoy reached out and laid a warm hand on Harry’s cheek, and the heat from his hand blended with the heat already glowing like a brand in Harry’s face. Harry moaned and nuzzled his head into Malfoy’s palm.  
  
“Hush, Harry,” Malfoy whispered.  
  
Harry didn’t have any choice but to hush, really, with the way he had buried half his mouth in Malfoy’s palm. His tongue shot out, and he licked the bare skin with an uncontrollable craving that at least  _felt_ as if it was for salt instead of what it really was. Malfoy’s eyes fluttered as he made a quiet sound of surprise. And then he stepped in and bent down and kissed Harry on the lips, and Harry abandoned inferior kisses for these superior, more easily obtainable ones.  
  
Malfoy kissed as if he were the one who was starving for it, and his hands were strong and exactly in the right place to prevent Harry from using his tongue to poke Malfoy’s teeth out. Harry had to stand there and let Malfoy kiss him instead of just being able to do exactly what he wanted. To his astonishment, he found that he preferred it this way. His hands came up and encircled Malfoy’s wrists, and his heart trembled and pounded and fluttered like a bird alighting on a branch.  
  
 _You are a bird, now. Bloody Veela vaccine._  
  
But even that thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have an hour ago. He murmured something soft that probably also sounded confused, and Malfoy bent down, soothing him with lips and fingers and even the bloody sweep of his eyelashes. Harry was in his arms, or Malfoy was in his. It bothered him, for a second, that he couldn’t remember who had moved first, or even really identify the point where his embrace began and Malfoy’s ended.  
  
Malfoy drew back long enough to whisper into his ear. Harry found that he didn’t mind. His head was leaning against Malfoy’s chest, and for the moment, his tingling mouth had had a surfeit of kisses.  
  
“I want this because it’s so strange, so rich and strange,” Malfoy whispered, sounding almost as if he was quoting something. Or someone. Harry didn’t know, his head spinning and pounding and buzzing. “Listen. I’ve lived my life since the war in a very nice but also very orderly and  _predictable_ way. I am willing to risk the immense change that this promises to be for a little newness. Are you?”  
  
Malfoy paused, and Harry knew what he needed to say. Malfoy wanted to know his reasons, or lack of reasons, for going through with the bond.  
  
Harry lifted his head. His mouth was already beginning to twitch uncomfortably again. He needed Malfoy and his lips  _back_ there, damn it.  
  
But this was important, and Malfoy only lifted his face further away when Harry tried to chase him. Right. Harry shut his eyes and tried to concentrate.   
  
“Right now, I want to bond with you because I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life,” he began.  
  
Malfoy made a strange, muffled sound. Harry jumped, eyes opening, hands already reaching out. If that announcement scared Malfoy and he tried to retreat—  
  
But Malfoy had reared back and was giving him a long, slow look instead, hands furiously tight on his shoulders. His hands shook, though. Harry, after a long, hesitant, slow scan, decided that he knew what the problem was, after all.  
  
Malfoy was so aroused it was taking him a lot of self-control not to just dive at Harry.  
  
“You need me,” Malfoy whispered. His leg slid up, and at first Harry thought he was somehow trying to take a stride forwards with Harry in the way. Then he understood as the thigh slid between his and began to brush up and down against his rigid cock. He understood a lot of things. “I never thought I would…hear you say that.”  
  
Harry arched his back and tried to think, clawing after his thoughts the way a normal Veela would claw someone who had taken his mate, his mind darting around randomly. But he found what he needed, a second later.   
  
“I think I could live with this bond,” he whispered. “You’re not some stranger, some adoring fan. I can’t say—it’s not going to be perfect, the way that a destined love affair is supposed to be. But I could live with this.”  
  
“I didn’t even know I was waiting to hear you say those words,” Malfoy murmured, sounding awed.  
  
Harry opened his eyes, thinking that was awfully odd, and then realized that Malfoy had referred to his words of need, not the last ones he spoke. He swallowed. “Malfoy?”  
  
“Yes?” Malfoy was back in an instant, focusing on him as though he was the only thing in the universe, his head bent down and his lips a few breaths away from Harry’s.  
  
“Do you think you could live with it, too?”  
  
Harry held his breath even through the pressure of the ridiculous need that now felt as if it was squeezing his throat shut. No matter what, if Malfoy said he didn’t want this, Harry would force himself to back off. He—  
  
Malfoy’s smile was so richly dazzling that it stole all of Harry’s common sense the way a bolt of lightning on a dark night could interrupt his vision.  
  
“More than that,” Malfoy whispered, and leaned down to kiss Harry again.  
  
And all that was left for Harry to do was to open his arms and welcome in his future.  
  
*  
  
They did make it to the bedroom. Draco was a little surprised about that, but he also thought that rutting on the floor in front of the fireplace was a bit of an undignified beginning to what could be a lifelong bond.  
  
 _Lifelong_.  
  
God, maybe Harry was right and Draco  _didn’t_ have the slightest idea of what he was doing. He did hesitate and think about that for a moment.  
  
But Harry paused in the doorway to the bedroom and turned his head to see what had caught Draco’s attention, and Draco felt his resolve crumble. The slightest movement from Harry—he had stopped calling him Potter somewhere around the middle of the stair where he had melted against the wall while Draco kissed his elbow—was unfairly seductive.  
  
Not as seductive as his words about needing Draco, but then, even Draco hadn’t known how much that would reach into him and  _yank_ him to attention.  
  
“You’re still good,” Draco murmured, and placed a hand in the middle of Harry’s back, propelling him a little ahead. Harry tilted his head back as though reveling in the attention, and his dangling hair brushed Draco’s knuckles.  
  
Things got a little hazy after that.  
  
There was the flinging off of constricting cloth, and the kisses that grasped and tugged on Draco’s mouth as firmly as hands, and the way that Harry tripped him into bed and then sucked on his neck until Draco wanted to make some joke about how it was probably vampire vaccine and not Veela allure that Harry had got infected with. Only he couldn’t find the breath.  
  
“Draco,” Harry said, into the corner of his collarbone.  
  
That meant they had both got on the first-name basis Draco desired. That was good. Draco knew it was good, and in a second he would be able to answer in a clear, firm voice if someone asked him, exactly why it was good and how good it was.   
  
But then Harry bit him, gently, on the skin above the collarbone, and Draco decided that clear firm explanations and looking people in the eyes and shaking their hands like he so often had to do as a liaison could wait until later.  
  
Harry was twisting restlessly on top of him, his face blazing red and his eyes blazing green. Draco was glad that their shirts had already gone, and all that remained were the trousers. He had shed his formal robes before he firecalled Harry, and Harry had apparently done the same thing with his Auror robes.  
  
Draco reached down and worked his hand into Harry’s trousers, and then his pants, and Harry uttered a breathless exclamation and went very still.  
  
Draco smiled and rolled his hand back and forth, and Harry reared back and gave him a swift look.   
  
“I want to wait,” Harry said, in a high, strained voice.  
  
Draco was shocked at how that announcement seemed to dump cold water on him. An actual ice bath would have been less painful. He winced and couldn’t think of anything to say. He started to sit up, pull back, the way Harry wanted.  
  
But Harry seemed to have figured out what he had said, and also what he had said  _wrong_. His glance at Draco was stabbing. “No, you  _idiot_ ,” he said, as if it was Draco’s fault that  _Harry_ had been less than clear. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to walk away from me. I meant I wanted to wait to come until you can fuck me. Not come—in your hand.” He was turning so red that Draco, passing him in the corridors at the Ministry, would have been sure he had a disease.  
  
“Well, maybe I’ll have you come in my hand  _anyway_ ,” Draco said, in a tone of soft menace that made Harry freeze and quiver, and then rolled them both so that Harry was beneath him on the bed and they were panting into each other’s faces again.  
  
But he did take his hand off Harry’s cock, and put it on his wand, casting the spell that would unroll their trousers and pants neatly down their legs and fold them into a corner. He didn’t use it often, wanting that sense of taking off his lover’s clothes and letting his fingers brush their skin. But he’d already had it with Harry when it came to their shirts, and he honestly didn’t think either of them could wait much longer.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Harry said the minute he was free of clothes, and spread his legs. His cock was darker than his face.  
  
Draco bent down to lick it, once, because he didn’t think Harry was that close to coming and he wanted to taste it, and Harry bucked and neatly stabbed him in the eye with it. Draco chuckled and pulled back, stroking Harry’s hips softly as he conjured the lube.  
  
“You’ve never done this before?” he asked, sliding his fingers into Harry’s arse. There was a satisfying start and shiver and a widening of Harry’s thighs in the next moment, so Draco must have done  _something_ right.  
  
“It’s been—a bloody long time since I had anything up there,” said Harry, and his voice was almost slurring with eagerness. He tossed his head back and spread his legs until his feet were dangling over the edges of the bed. “Come  _on_!”  
  
Draco could have made a pun about his choice of words. He could have teased and hesitated and held back even more, because he thought teasing Harry was one of the most fun things he’d done in years.  
  
But they were both ready in a few minutes, so a few minutes of teasing was all he got before he entered Harry for the first time.  
  
He looked down at Harry’s parted and panting mouth, his twitching toes, his shuddering hands that reached up and clutched Draco’s hips, and knew it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
For now, though…  
  
Draco reared back, and thrust in, and buried himself in pleasure.  
  
*  
  
Harry hadn’t known it would be this good, or he would have tried to get some Veela allure of his own before now.  
  
His world was slowly spinning around him, his hands reaching out for a constant in the dizzy dance, and finding Draco. Draco’s skin and flesh, bone and blood, now that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. The sweat beneath Harry’s fingers as he moved and thrust, and the soft washes of breath over Harry’s face when he bent down to kiss him. And then Harry would feel the next dazzling thrust inside him, and lose track of where Draco’s face and shoulders were for another moment.  
  
It was strong enough, wild enough, that Harry felt as though someone had set him bouncing on the rapids of a river. He rose and fell, and his awareness sizzled out in a static of pleasure. At one point someone urged him to tilt his head to the side and open his mouth, and he did that just because it was so good.  
  
And then he realized that wasn’t someone, that was  _Draco_ , and he did it eagerly.  
  
Draco mimicked his thrusts into Harry’s arse with the thrusts of his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry welcomed it, laughed aloud, and Draco laughed back, and the laughter danced and brewed between them.  
  
It was so good.  
  
Harry’s mind soared, it reached out, and he thought he brushed for a second against another mind, against different emotions. Well, that was what a Veela bond was for, wasn’t it? He pushed further, and found himself in the midst of Draco’s awareness.  
  
Draco gasped in shock, but his body was past the point where he could comfortably stop, and he continued thrusting. Harry cried out softly and reached out, trailing his fingers through Draco’s emotions the way he would through a soft, slow-moving river.  
  
The softness, the sleekness, coiled around him, moved with him.  
  
And there was the wonder that Draco had promised him, and the enjoyment of a situation where he would get to have something new and  _different_ , and the intense arousal when Harry had said that he needed him.  
  
It was all there. Surrounding Harry, making him feel as if he was being made love to in the heart of a star.  
  
And knowing that, he could come. And it was more than contentment that burned him as he lay there, Draco wrapped around him. It was a bond.  
  
*  
  
Draco didn’t remember the moment of his own orgasm. It was lost somewhere in the burning power that had consumed his mind when Harry had  _his_. But he knew they were lying comfortably together, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted Harry to speak up and destroy the moment.   
  
Harry shifted, though, stirred, and lifted his head. Draco looked down at him. He had to wonder if Harry was going to want to do this again, now that his intense craving was fulfilled.  
  
But Harry was grinning.   
  
“You know,” he said, “I could get used to sex like that.”  
  
Draco had to smile. “Just the sex?” he asked, despite being afraid of the answer.  
  
“And sharing your mind,” Harry said. “It wouldn’t be the same without that.” He hesitated, then reached up and laid a hand on Draco’s brow, in the place where Draco would have a lightning bolt scar if—  
  
If he was Harry Potter. And for one blinding moment, Draco really had felt as if he was.  
  
“You can go along with this?” Harry whispered. “You’re not going to need to retreat again when you wake up fully and realize what you’ve done?”  
  
Draco pulled the hand down from his forehead and kissed the palm. In the center, where lifelines crossed, and then in the wrist, where he could feel Harry’s pulse.  
  
“No,” he said. “It’s different. It’ll take some time to get used to this. But I want to.”  
  
Harry nodded, and closed his eyes. “Isn’t that strange when it started as a coincidence, a reaction,” he muttered. “So do I.”  
  
Draco smiled. Someday he would ask Harry to make a confession like that while looking into his eyes.   
  
But for now, it was more than enough to lie down, and close his eyes, and give thanks for Veela vaccine, and how swiftly and neatly it had propelled them into each other’s lives.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
